


Successor

by jury



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, Breeding, Dominant Omega, Forced Bonding, Incest, Knotting, Large Cock, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 03:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20789828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jury/pseuds/jury
Summary: Prince Mael's alpha uncle was exiled for his forbidden desires, and returns carrying the weight of his dark secret. Mael is determined to force the secret into the open to his advantage, using all his power as an omega as his weapon.





	Successor

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to El for betaing so quickly and so thoroughly.

The night was so cold that Mael thought the cloud of his breath might fall out of the air and shatter on the ground. It drifted away into the dark instead, and he was distracted from it by the jingle of tack that echoed through the trees. Bertram was late, no doubt from a sense of propriety, as if he thought a few more minutes in the bone-deep cold would be enough to put Mael off his plan. But he was warm enough under his bearskin cloak, and it brought a small smile to his face to imagine Bertram caught between delaying him and not wanting him to freeze to death. 

He could hear the horses now, and caught sight of movement between the trees. The sleigh pulled up, neatly, right at his feet as Bertram leaped down from the driver's seat. His eyes skidded across Mael, before dipping appropriately as he stepped forward to open the sleigh door. 

"Your Highness — "

"I already told you not to try and dissuade me," Mael said. "I've never needed to ask you twice before."

"Yes," Bertram said, still looking down. Mael could see he wanted to add “but”, but bit his tongue and ducked his head, raising his hand for Mael to take as he stepped into the sleigh. Bertram had been his servant for long enough that Mael allowed him his indulgences, even though he was an alpha — like looking at him in the bath — but he had never come close to questioning Mael before. He would have to be dealt with later.

Still, Mael understood why he was questioning him. The rumours surrounding his uncle's arrival were furious enough that Mael was sure he would be the first visitor. He had seen at least one chambermaid faint on the day it was announced his uncle would have to return for the centennial ceremony. The servants had probably refused to serve his uncle in the castle, forcing him out onto the grounds. 

Mael’s father was an alpha as well, of course, but only something _more_ than an alpha could spark such fear in the castle, Mael thought. Blood pulsed hot in his throat; he laid his hand across his neck and imagined hard pressure there instead. 

The sleigh was heaped with blankets and a hot brick for his feet, one of Bertram's faithful touches, but Mael needed the cold, the sting of ice on his face and the bitterness of the air drawn down into his lungs, to stay focused and sharp. 

Bertram clucked to the horses and set them off all at once, the sleigh sliding smoothly over the snow. The horses were high-stepped and happy to be working, as they always were with Bertram at the reins. Winter scents were in the air, holly, pine bark, a hint of woodsmoke. The winter palace fell away behind them quickly.

There was one family portrait left with his uncle in it. Every time Mael had so much as glanced at it when the family gathered in the library, he could feel his grandmother's radiating, quiet fury. But it was just a portrait of a young man. His imagination rendered Illarion taller, wider, with eyes like dark stones and the powerful aura of an alpha that would make Mael sink to his knees as soon as their eyes met. 

The escape had been easier than he had expected; no one had seen his quick steps through the halls, or called out to him as he cupped at the guttering candle. His heart had slowed now, but it had been abnormally fast when he had first slipped from his chambers; it rarely beat like that. 

It was late enough in the night that he could imagine everyone in the palace was asleep. His parents, aunts and uncle, cousins — all curled deep in their blankets, warmed by the banked fires in the hearths. 

Not everyone, though. 

If his father had known his plans, Mael would be locked in his room, if he was lucky, and in the oubliette if he was not. He narrowed his eyes against the wind. His father cared for nothing except his reputation, his appearance, and his line to the throne. Not one thing could be seen to be less than perfect, and especially not Mael. He smiled at the thought of the anger in his father's eyes when he found he had been disobeyed.

Somehow he knew, even before the sleigh rounded the last corner and the outbuilding came into view, that there would be a light burning in the window, and there was. Apart from the torches on the sleigh and the moon and stars, it was the only light he could see. The trunks of the trees were close enough together, apart from the carved-out trail, to block the palace from view entirely. 

Bertram whoaed the horses, quiet as he could, but Mael still saw a shadow move at the window. The cottage was fine enough — it had to be, to house a member of the royal family, even if it was just to keep up appearances — but Mael had no interest in its trappings. Bertram leaped down from the driver's seat with surprising grace, ducking his head once more as he raised his hand to assist Mael down from the sleigh. His hand was warm even through the fabric of Mael's glove.

"Should I return in an hour?" he said.

"In the morning," Mael said, his eyes fixed on the door ahead of him.

"Your — "

"I said," Mael said, stepping past Bertram without a glance behind, "in the morning." 

His feet crunched on the snow, his slippers inadequate for the cold. That was fine — he didn't intend to be outside for very long at all. He pulled up his bearskin a little higher, the touch of winter air curling around his ankles. 

Three or four more steps took him right to the door. He raised his hand to knock; from the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow at the window move. Silence behind the door for a few moments more. He raised his hand to knock again. Footsteps behind the door — it came open a crack. 

"Ts — Tsv — "

"It's Mael," Mael said. "Tsvetan's son. Though I've been told the resemblance is — uncanny." 

"It is," the man behind the door said, his brown eyes still wide with shock. 

He was nothing like Mael had imagined. He was tall, slim, and his eyes were light and nervous. Mael had never thought his uncle might look like his father, but their differences pleased him. Illarion had a touch of early grey to his hair which belied the fact that there were only fifteen or so summers between him and Mael. His face was still smooth and youthful, however, without the weight of Mael’s father's permanent scowl. There was a wary look in his eye, not the commanding glare that Mael had expected. He barely even smelled like an alpha when Mael subtly scented the air. 

"Aren't you going to let me in, Uncle?" Mael said. "Family shouldn't linger in the cold." 

"I — yes," Illarion said, stepping to the side with an air of reluctance that Mael couldn't pinpoint. His voice sounded a little raspy, as if it wasn't often used. Mael knew what he looked like — smelled like, too — but Illarion's face was carefully neutral and pointed away from Mael, his eyes sliding away to look at the wall. 

Mael slipped his shoes off at the entryway to the little cottage. It was small and sparse, not at all befitting someone of Illarion's titles. Or the titles they hadn't stripped from him, at least. A fireplace, a small table, a trunk and a tea counter were all that were contained within the cottage's log walls. Mael would expect to find fancier accommodations in any peasant's house. There was nothing to look at, really. Mael's father always travelled with what seemed like half his entire wardrobe, bags that needed two manservants to lift them and all the accoutrements of royalty. Illarion had brought just a single trunk; he had probably carried it to the cottage by himself.

They stood side by side in the entryway for a few awkward moments. Illarion was almost twice Mael's age and an alpha to boot, but he seemed unsettled and lost, and not from Mael's presence, in the way that Mael had expected. Any urge to capitulate he was feeling was springing from his own instincts, and not any order of Illarion's, voiced or unvoiced. 

"Aren't you going to offer me tea, uncle?" Mael said, pulling his gloves from his fingers one by one. Illarion's eyes fell to Mael's signet rings, denoting his titles and inheritances, and then away. Illarion's own fingers were bare, except for the brass ring on his thumb, which he covered at Mael's gaze by folding his hands together. 

"Tea. Yes. Do you like — I brought some from the east," he said. "No, I'm sure you'd prefer some from home." His stride was long — there was a secret strength to his body, Mael thought, glimpsing the shift of muscle in his thighs. Not the body of a prince, but a working man, with calloused hands that looked wrong clutching the handle of the ornate teapot, painted with delicate blossoms and gold leaf. He hung the kettle over the fireplace, back turned to Mael, who took the opportunity to sit at the table. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip to redden it. 

"Can I take your coat?" Illarion said. His politeness rankled at Mael. He hadn't expected deference — Illarion really should outrank him, by birth and status. 

"No," Mael said, perhaps a shade too quickly. "I'll warm up first." 

Illarion's back was still turned to him; he was lingering with the tea much longer than required. Mael breathed in again, the flavours of welcoming tea almost completely covering the muted notes of Illarion's scent. His own would be permeating the air as he warmed beneath the bearskin. Perhaps that would spur on Illarion's true nature. 

"How is the east, uncle?" Mael said. Illarion jumped, just a little, as if he had been trying to forget Mael was there. He poured the water and began to bless the tea, his back still turned, only animated by the sweeping movements of his arms over the cups. 

"It's all well, all taken care of," Illarion said. "And here — are you attending to your studies?"

Mael frowned. It sounded like when one of his distant aunts made the pilgrimage to the capital, not an alpha speaking to an omega. Did Illarion even know what was going on? Had he bothered to scent how close Mael was to his heat? He wasn't a _child_. "I've had my final nameday," Mael said, softly tapping his fingers against the tabletop. "I'm a man."

"Oh," Illarion said. 

Frustration prickled at Mael. He pressed his lips together, hard. He was a royal omega, unused to being ignored by alphas. Usually they couldn't keep their eyes off him, but Illarion wouldn't even look at him — that was the play, then. 

Perhaps he was afraid of what his instincts were telling him to do. Maybe they were telling him to knock Mael to the floor and knot him right there, urges pent up from years in exile. A royal, unmated omega in close proximity should be irresistible, let alone one on the cusp of heat. Surely Illarion could smell that. If not, he had to smell that Mael was wet halfway down to his knees. 

"Why were you sent out to the east?" 

"Sent? No, no," Illarion said, finishing with the tea. "Someone has to look after the royal trade interests there. I always had an aptitude for trade — "

"Do you think people actually believe that?" Mael said, his voice cutting through Illarion's like a knife. He expected him to drop a cup, the delicate pieces shattering throughout the whole room, or curse, or turn on Mael, but Illarion did nothing except go very still, the back of his neck flushing red. 

"Believe — " 

"From what I've heard, your _aptitude _wasn't for trade," Mael said. 

Illarion turned, the tea tray clutched in his white-knuckled hands. He put it down roughly on the table, the cups jumping on their saucers. Now he looked like an alpha, his brows dark and furrowed, eyes hard. His scent was growing, spicy and hot behind the floral tea. "I've brought back the family trade in the east to what it once was," he said, as if that would be enough to dispel what Mael was implying. "Our coffers overflow — the routes — " He trailed off, as if he knew Mael was unconvinced.

"Did you miss my father?"

Illarion opened his mouth and closed it again, swallowing. He visibly composed himself, despite the fact that Mael was looking up at him like it was just an innocent question that shouldn't need such effort. "Do you mean did — do I miss the family?"

"No," Mael said.

"Tsvetan — " and even the name in Illarion's mouth was more reverential than it was in Mael's — "I suppose so," he said, reluctantly.

"Was he a bastard then like he is now?" 

Mael waited to see what Illarion would do — jump to Tsvetan's defence, agree with Mael, or something in between, but he just looked shocked, and said nothing. It was disappointing. "I suppose I'll just have to go off old stories. If they're true, you might be biased towards him, anyway."

Mael took up the teapot and poured the cups like it was any other conversation they were having, twisting his rings over the cups. Illarion wasn't even looking at what he was doing; it was like now he was looking at Mael's face, he couldn't look away. Mael raised an eyebrow. He could tell his silence was unnerving Illarion, pushing him off-balance.

"What have you heard?" Illarion said, like he had forgotten he was meant to deny what Mael was talking about. He sank down into his chair like his legs were weak. "What do they say?"

"You can't guess?" Mael said, pushing one cup towards Illarion, who ignored it. "You can't begin to guess?"

Illarion's nostrils flared. Was it with anger or was he scenting Mael? He couldn't tell. Mael's body was awakening to its purpose with a long, hot throb of blood throughout it, the words on his tongue tasting sweet. 

"Prince-exile Illarion," he said, "so obsessed with his brother he'd call his name during rut for everyone to hear. The sheets would be so soaked with his come they'd have to burn them every month. He'd watch his brother in the bath. He'd steal his smallclothes and dream of mating his brother with them wrapped around his cock. _If only Tsvetan had been born an omega_, he'd say — "

"Shut up," Illarion growled. He looked a little startled that it had issued from him in a deep, commanding tone — an _alpha's_ tone. 

Mael's mouth snapped shut and he smiled with teeth. An order from an alpha — finally. His blood sang with it. 

"No one — everyone knows?" 

Mael stood. Illarion looked up at him. "Tsvetan — my father might have been born an alpha, but not me." He pulled at the tie of the bearskin at his neck and let it fall to the floor, revealing his nakedness. He knew how he looked as Illarion's eyes travelled his body, from the rings in his nipples to his half-hard cock — big for an omega — and past that to the wetness on his thighs. It was unmistakable. He could smell himself. "I look like him, I sound like him. Call me his name, I don't care. I — "

Illarion stood. Just that movement made Mael's knees wobble as he had to tilt his head back to look up. 

Illarion raised his hand and slapped Mael full across the face. He didn't pull the hit. Mael's ears rang. "Yes," he hissed, the sibilant sliding from his lips. He closed his eyes. 

Illarion smelled like ozone and cracked rock, and it was the only warning Mael got before Illarion picked up the bearskin and threw it at him, grabbed him by the neck and threw him out into the cold. The door slammed behind Mael, leaving him dazed, half in the snow and half on the bearskin, blinking snowflakes out of his eyes. 

He could still smell alpha even from this side of the door, not rich with heat and blood, but sour. Mael licked his lips and picked himself up from the ground, his stockinged feet numb in the snow. He shook his bearskin free of ice and wrapped it around his shoulders. It was damp and set a shiver down into his body. His gloves and shoes were still inside, and Illarion didn't seem inclined to throw them out. Bertram had listened after all; the sleigh was nowhere to be seen. Mael stepped, lightfooted, up to the door once again. 

"Uncle," he said, tapping at the wood. "Do you want to add me freezing to death to the list of your sins?" He let his fingers linger on the wood, imagining the warmth on the other side. He was chilled, but not to the core, his teeth chattering perhaps a little more than was necessary. Mael tapped once more and the door slowly opened, admitting him back into the cottage. 

Illarion looked different. His face was flushed, pupils dilated, and he was sweating, just enough for a thin sheen to cover his face. 

"Oh, dear," Mael said, "you drank your tea, didn't you?" 

"What did you — "

"I got it wrong, didn't I?" Mael said. Illarion's eyes were half-closed. He swayed on his feet, knees weak. "Tell me how I got it wrong." His face still smarted with the impact of Illarion's slap, the warmth of it spurring him on. 

"Who are you?" Illarion said, stumbling into the room. Mael followed him. "I don't know you."

"I'm Tsvetan," Mael said. 

"Tsvetan?" Illarion said, turning and falling to his knees all at once. "Brother?"

"Yes," Mael said, cupping Illarion's cheek and running a thumb down to his mouth. "What would you have me do to you, Illarion? Would you suck my cock? Let me knot your mouth?" Illarion nodded, leaning hard against Mael, his lips parting as Mael's thumb hooked into the corner of his lips, stretching his mouth. His eyes were almost closed. Mael shrugged out of his bearskin once more, Illarion's head resting against his naked thigh. "But that's not what you really want, is it? You want to be knotted by an alpha — held down and bred full of come until you're stupid with it. You want to be bitten and claimed by your brother, don't you?"

Illarion groaned, his hips kicking against Mael's calf. "I thought you — " he said, his mouth moving softly against Mael's thigh. "I never thought you would want me."

"It's you who should have been born an omega," Mael said. "It's you. Maybe you thought if you got filled with enough alpha come, it would change you." Illarion's eyes closed, his body going lax against Mael. "We can test that theory later." 

*

Illarion woke slowly. Mael watched his eyes move behind his eyelids for some time before they opened. He watched confusion and anger mix across Illarion's face, and throughout it all he never stopped grinding down on Illarion's thigh. It was wet below him; he was sure Illarion could feel it. Once he had drunk the tea it had started and hadn't stopped, his body responding to the presence of a royal alpha. 

He watched Illarion realise his arms and legs were bound to the bed; he watched Illarion realise that not only was his cock hard, but he was thick with the beginning of a knot. His eyes widened in horror; he tugged at his bindings as if to reach down and cover his shame. Mael laughed, softly. It was far too late for that. Mael hadn't even touched Illarion's cock yet and it was already so hard, purple and painful at the tip, plump at the base. Illarion might not have the instincts of an alpha, but his body did. 

"Why are you doing this?" Illarion said, his voice hazy with sleep and confusion. Mael reached out and rolled his palm over the tip of Illarion's cock, hard enough that he gasped and tried to twist away. 

"Ever since I presented," Mael said, pushing his palm back and forth across the head of Illarion's cock, "I used to go to the library and look at the family portrait — the only one left of you. I used to go there and see how many fingers I could get inside myself before I came. I still have the scars from biting my hand to keep quiet. See? But it wasn't enough."

"But _why_?" 

"Don't be dense," Mael said, sliding his thumb over the top of Illarion's cock and tugging at the slit, just enough to make him grunt. "Imagine yourself as _I _see you — or saw you. An alpha so terrifying, so powerful that he had to be sent away for unspeakable crimes. An alpha so strong he could dominate other alphas. Only _that_ would be enough for an omega like me." 

"I don't — "

"Do you think I look like Tsvetan by coincidence — by lineage? I think my body shaped itself for you."

He could see a note of uncomprehending fear growing in the back of Illarion's eyes. That was fine. He didn't need to understand now. There would be time enough later. 

"You're my nephew — Tsvetan's _son_," Illarion said, voice sharp with fear. "If he finds out — "

"That's what you're thinking about? I must say, you've disappointed me," Mael said. "Very underwhelming compared to your reputation." Illarion's cock jerked in his hold, spilling wetness down over Mael's fingers. "Oh?" 

"Don't — you can stop — "

"Do you like that?" Mael said. "Do you like hearing what a pathetic excuse for an alpha you are?" 

"_Ah _— "

Illarion closed his eyes, raising his hips off the bed. The furrow in his brow grew deeper as his cock grew wetter, from both the harshness of Mael's words and the rough grip of his hand. The tea would have put him in the start of rut, but it was Mael who was doing the rest of the work. "You're lucky I'm here or you'd never feel what it's like to fuck an omega. You could have knocked me down and knotted me when I first stepped in here, but you didn't." 

"You don't know what you're saying," Illarion said. "We can't — _uh _— " Illarion's teeth sank into his lower lip and pulled, as Mael reached down and palmed his knot, still soft enough to dig his fingers into it. Illarion grunted in pain and tried to twist away from Mael's punishing grip. 

Mael was so _wet_ and only getting wetter. The tea was hot in his blood but that wasn't all. His body was reacting to _alpha_ and it was only getting stronger. He rocked down on the thick muscle of Illarion's thigh. Illarion’s scent had turned to burnt wood and dirt, and below that, fresh sweat and come. 

Mael lifted himself and positioned his hole over Illarion's cock, his slick dripping down. He settled on top of it, pushing down with all his weight. 

Illarion's tongue was still tripping over words. "Don't — you can't — " But his body was doing all the worthwhile speaking, responding to each of Mael's touches like it was made for them. A deep red flush of shame was spreading over his chest and cheeks, marring the honey skin there. But the more shame he felt, the harder his cock seemed to get.

"You can't even speak, and you think you can tell me what to do?" Mael said, rubbing his hole back and forth along the length of Illarion's cock. "You're a disappointment to your lineage — _our _lineage. They were right to send you away." 

Illarion moaned, the head of his cock catching on Mael's hole and making him gasp. Enough precome was pushing out of his cock to make it look like he was continuously coming, mixing with Mael's slick. It made Mael's thighs tremble with effort to restrain himself from shoving down on it, pushing it all into his hole at once. 

He leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand on Illarion's neck, causing him to choke, breath low. Mael kissed him, pressing his teeth and tongue against the seal of Illarion's lips. Illarion twisted his head away, leaving Mael to nip at the edge of his jaw. 

"Come on," he murmured into Illarion's skin. "This could be your only chance. Call me his name."

"No," Illarion said, teeth gritted shut. "No." He tried to move, then, testing the bindings Mael had tied on him to their full extent. But Mael had practiced on himself, and all Illarion's movements were doing was exhausting him, sweat springing up in a sheen over his body. He was panting for a breath he couldn't quite draw, his head tilted up and away from Mael, as if not looking would make it not real.

"Look at me," Mael said, gripping his jaw with a hard hand. Illarion's eyes opened slowly, blurrily raking over Mael's body. His mouth was open and wet, his eyes lingering on Mael's face. Mael frowned, as he knew his father did, furrowed his brow and turned that disapproving eye on Illarion. He'd practiced in the mirror until he wasn't looking at his own face at all. Illarion shuddered, but whether it was from fear or arousal, Mael couldn't tell. He watched Illarion give in by minute degrees, his long-held wish too strong to be ignored. "Call me his name."

"T — Tsvetan," Illarion said, and his whole body relaxed into it, his eyes glassy and hot. "Tsvetan, please — "

"Yes," Mael hissed, tightening his grip on Illarion's throat again, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. His cock filled at the sound of Illarion's capitulation, the name ringing through the air. It gave him power that was intoxicating, especially paired with the pained reluctance on Illarion's face. He had turned a royal alpha to _his _will, and it had been so easy. H

e could feel the frenzied beat of Illarion's blood in his neck, tendons standing out in relief. The bonding gland in Mael's throat began to throb in time. He bared his teeth and hissed, the head of Illarion's cock catching on the rim of his hole, again and again until he felt half-crazed with it. 

Illarion was fully in rut, tugging so hard on the bindings that the whole bed shook with it. He growled, deep and inhuman, rumbling in his chest. His mind was so gone with rut and desperation that all he could think of was knotting Mael. Now, finally, his alpha instincts were awakening to what he could have had. A wet omega presenting on the bed, just waiting to be fucked and bred. But that wasn't what Illarion had wanted. 

"You wouldn't know what to do with me if you caught me," Mael said, squeezing his hand on Illarion's neck. He reached behind himself and lined up Illarion's cock, pushing it slowly into his hole. Just the head felt immense, like it couldn't possibly fit inside his body. He wouldn't let that stop him. His body was made for this. 

He pushed down, forcing Illarion's cock into his body one inch at a time, gasping with the force of it. It was so hard and so huge that any slight movement he made pressed it right against his prostate, the pressure making pleasure resound through his whole body. It forced precome out of his own neglected cock, and he gasped with the force of it. The knot was still beginning; he didn't know how he would get it in. 

Illarion was insensate but he kept pushing his hips up, jarring his knot against Mael's hole. 

"You'll break me," Mael said, words wheezing out of his tight throat. "I'll break on your knot." 

"Tsvetan," Illarion said, his voice cracked, hazy with pleasure. He pushed his hips up, his knot stretching Mael's hole, seeking entrance to his body. Mael ground down in turn, stretching himself to the point of pain mixed with unrelenting pleasure. His mind felt like it was melting as Illarion's knot finally, _finally_, slid into his body, his hole struggling to close after it. It was hot and huge against his prostate. 

Mael shook with pleasure, building until he was so close to coming, his balls drawn up tight and painful against his body. He built to the peak but never fell off it, the pleasure agonisingly drawn out.

"What do you want?" he said, raising his hand. He slapped Illarion across the face. "You know I can't come until you do — until my alpha does." His rings left bright marks across Illarion's face, his cheekbone and the corner of his lips. 

Illarion's eyes were clearing now that his knot was seated in Mael's body. His eyes were flicking up and down Mael's body, and they looked pained, unsatisfied. He whined, soft, plaintive. Every slight movement Illarion made tugged at Mael's rim. He clenched down, squeezing Illarion's knot. Illarion gasped, struggling again with the bindings around his wrists, the skin beneath them red and abraded. 

"What do you need?" Mael said, rocking back and forth on Illarion's knot. "You probably need an alpha cock up your ass — " Illarion groaned — "but I can't give you that, so you'll have to think of something else." He rolled his hips again, finding a motion that shifted him back and forth just enough to rub the knot against his prostate. He could feel each movement squeezing precome from Illarion's cock, wet and hot enough inside him that it was starting to fill him up. "Come in me. Breed me. Make a royal heir." 

"Tsvetan — " Illarion said. "Brother, please." The plaintive tone made Mael frown. He wanted obedience, capitulation, not begging.

"Did you spend your days in exile like this?" Mael asked, pushing his fingers into Illarion's mouth until he choked, pressing down on his tongue. "Touching yourself until you came dry from thoughts of Tsvetan? Of my father? Now your thoughts will only be of _me_."

Another choked-out, wet _Tsvetan, _garbled around his fingers. 

"No," Mael said. "I've changed my mind. Say _my_ name."

"T — "

Mael slapped Illarion across the face, backhanded, his rings biting into his face. Illarion's eyes cleared, just enough that he realised where he was and what was happening, although they were still hot with rut. 

"No, no," he said, and tried to pull free of Mael's body. The knot tugged on his rim and Mael gasped, reaching that almost-peak again, still unable to come. Mael's cock was painful and oversensitive, purple at the tip. He moaned and his body began to shake, toes curling. 

Illarion couldn't free himself. Mael wasn't sure he wanted to. His struggles had become weak and unconvincing, like he was trying to convince himself to escape, and failing.

"I know what you need," Mael said, leaning down. He squeezed hard against Illarion's knot, forcing his aching hole to clench once more, fluttering like he was coming. He laid his neck against Illarion's mouth, baring it to his teeth. The bonding gland was pounding with want and need and _satisfaction_. Just the touch of the edge of Illarion's teeth set his veins alight; he moaned as his cock kicked. He was still held on the razor's edge of pleasure and it was driving him mad. "Bond me."

"No," Illarion said, the brush of his lips against the bonding gland making Mael quiver with anticipation. "They won't exile me — they'll kill me."

"They'll have to kill both of us," Mael said. "They won't kill _me_."

Tears leaked from the corners of Illarion's eyes. 

"Think about it," Mael hissed. "Think of the look in his eye. Think of the rage and hate and _jealousy_. There's no one that hates him more than me. Not even you. Think of how he'll have to look at us."

"Mael," Illarion sighed. "Mael — " 

He bit down, hard. 

Mael shrieked, caught between the bite and the sensation of Illarion beginning to come. He'd satisfied his alpha. He was being given his reward. It was a neverending hot flood of come directly into his body that left him insensate. His orgasm followed, but he barely felt it, subsumed by the river that was pouring into his body, enough that he felt _filled_ completely, plugged by Illarion's knot. There was enough of it that he could feel it inside him — see the slight bulge of it in his belly. 

Pain sprang from the bite and twisted into something else, the first strands of the bond reaching out between them and twining together. Illarion finally released him, his eyes wet with tears and his mouth wet with blood. Mael began to laugh and found he couldn't stop. The knot wasn't shrinking; Illarion's cock wasn't softening. 

"Again," Mael said. "Again."

*

The day they were exiled together was bright and cold, trees capped with ice and boughs heavy with snow. Mael could hear the sleigh's approach from far away, the distant jingle of the bells, before he could see it. He rested his hand in the crook of Illarion's arm, laid his head there too. Illarion was stiff and thrumming with tension, and it pulsed in the weak, newly-formed bond. 

"I've always liked the east," Mael said. 

Illarion didn't respond, eyes fixed on the approaching sleigh. Bertram was at its helm, jumping down to open the door of the closed carriage. Bertram couldn't look straight at Mael, despite the fact he kept trying, spots of colour burning high in his cheeks. 

"Your highness — es," Bertram said, his voice catching. Mael had underestimated his loyalty; he hadn't expected him to ask to accompany them to the east. For that, he would have to be rewarded. Instead, he was standing there like a dead tree.

"Aren't you going to give me your hand?" Mael said. "I need it to step up into the sleigh." 

"Ah," Bertram stuttered — very unbecoming for an alpha, Mael thought — his eyes flicking between Mael, whose head was high, and Illarion, whose head was bowed. "Shouldn't he — I mean his Highness — "

"Maybe I want yours," Mael said. Bertram hesitated, but he wasn't brave enough to defy a direct order. He raised his hand for Mael to step up into the carriage, his fingers strong and warm. Illarion followed without a word, his head turned down and his steps dragging. 

When they were on their way, the doors of the carriage closed and the shades drawn, Mael turned to Illarion. "Well," he said. "What do you think?"

"What?" Illarion said, startled out of some reverie. 

"Should I let him fuck me in front of you, so you can see how a real alpha satisfies their omega?" Mael said. Illarion's eyes darkened and he swallowed hard. Mael watched once more the play of reluctance and shame across his face, his eyes dipping down. How long would it take before he truly surrendered to his desires? "Or should he fuck you first, so you can finally get the knot you want so much?" 

Mael laughed, and slipped his hand under the furs, feeling where Illarion's cock was already hard. His laughter mingled with the beats of the horses' hooves and Bertram's little encouragements, unaware he was encouraging his passengers as well. 


End file.
